THE DEFINITIVE LEAR

A REVIEW OF KING LEAR performed at The Royal Shakespeare Theatre,
Stratford�upon�Avon on 6 January 2000

BY KATHLEEN RILEY (Sydney, Australia)

Yukio Ninagawa�s excellent new production of King Lear with the Royal Shakespeare Company is a striking fusion of the traditions of Eastern and Western theatre. The staging of the play incorporates many features of Noh theatre. Most notably, the set is dominated by two huge doors on which is depicted in relief an ancient pine tree symbolizing eternal life. Against this backdrop the universal themes of moral darkness and death are played out with great intensity. The costumes, for the most part, are brilliantly elaborate. Of particular significance is the king�s costume in the opening scene which combines Classical Japanese design with swathes of fur that suggest Ancient Britain. The only slightly jarring aspect of the staging was during the storm scene when the use of falling lumps of rock was carried to almost comical excess. This did not, however, mar the effectiveness of the scene which was achieved through the force of the language.

The cast, with very few exceptions, is first class. In a significant departure from recent convention the role of the Fool is not played by a man comparable in age to Lear, but by a much younger man. Hiroyuki Sanada, the sole Japanese member of the company, is a Fool of athleticism and lyricism. He brings to the part an Eastern wisdom and an otherness that are entirely apposite. His youth makes him a surrogate son to Lear and the gentle development of this relationship enhances the humorous and human dimensions of the king. John Carlisle�s Gloucester is impressive for his vocal power, dignity and moral essence. Noteworthy performances are also given by Sian Thomas as Goneril, Christopher Benjamin as Kent and Michael Maloney as Edgar. But ultimately this rich and innovative production is the triumph of Nigel Hawthorne in the title role.

Sir Nigel�s Lear is neither a ranting tyrant nor a savage monster redeemed only in the penultimate act. His emphasis on the pathos, absurdity and simple humanity of the king is very different from what audiences have come to expect from the interpreter of this most challenging of roles. But his is a subtler, more interesting and indeed more enlightening creation.

In the brilliant opening scene it is the imposing presence of the actor that helps to establish the commanding presence of the king and the height from which he falls. The massive doors at the rear of the stage open to reveal a venerable warrior king, who is still physically august, striding purposefully towards his throne, flanked by his daughters and courtiers. His attitude upon the throne is formidable and instantly authoritative. This initial image of the king seated upon his throne in full regalia and command contrasts powerfully with the final image of him dressed in a simple robe, sitting on the ground and clutching to him the lifeless form of his daughter Cordelia (Robin Weaver), his tragic fall complete.

Owing to the fact that the play begins in medias res and that the act of abdication and the competition, which Lear initiates between his three daughters, are beset with inconsistencies, the opening scene presents the players and audience alike with considerable difficulties in terms of dramatic plausibility. Hawthorne is the first actor whom I have seen successfully to confront these difficulties. Unlike many of his predecessors in the role, whose histrionic excesses have overridden any attempts to explain or make plausible Lear�s madness, Sir Nigel acts out a sensitive and compelling thesis on the deterioration of the king�s mind. The subtle layers of his performance suggest a Lear who is suffering from something akin to Alzheimer�s disease or senile dementia. Throughout the play we are shown periods of lucidity and reason cleft by behaviour that is not only irrational but also clearly uncharacteristic. In the crucial first scene, for example, Hawthorne�s insertion of uncomfortably long pauses during his announcement of the competition makes the king an unnerving and unpredictable figure as is evident from the bewildered reaction of the assembled court.

In Act IV, when Lear meets the blinded Gloucester, he seems at first not to know him. But as Gloucester�s delight at hearing the king�s voice and amusement at his distracted antics give way to uncontrollable weeping, Lear suddenly takes him in his arms and says "I know thee well enough, thy name is Gloucester." Lear�s recognition of Gloucester, whereby the mad man gives comfort to the blind man, is one of the most moving parts of Hawthorne�s perfomance. It is given added pathos by its consistency with Sir Nigel�s reading of the madness not as a passionate, short-lived furor, but as a variable mental affliction. Similarly, Hawthorne�s momentary expressions of remorse towards the end of the first scene; the impression he creates in the presence of Regan and Goneril of a gravely distressed man addressing himself and fearful for his own sanity and his belated recognition of the loyal and ever present Kent demonstrate the volatility, disorientation and isolation which can be symptomatic of Alzheimer�s disease. His characterization thus provides the audience with insights into each stage of the terrifying journey of a man "Fourscore and upward" towards the dark chaos which replaces reason.

The restoration scene at the end of Act IV in which Lear is reconciled with Cordelia is played by Sir Nigel at an appropriately muted pitch and the king�s private world of suffering in which he is "mightily abused" is poignantly evoked. Just as in his famous portrayal of George III, Sir Nigel makes us see King Lear in his madness reduced to his humanity. Against the machinations of his eldest daughters and Edmund, he throws into stark relief the vulnerability of the "child-changed father".

King Lear is a play that has many parallels with Greek tragedy and Sir Nigel�s thoughtful and sympathetic interpretation of the central role helps to draw these out. In his "Come, let�s away to prison" speech he exhibits a heroism and defiance built on gentleness, recalling to my mind William Arrowsmith�s description of Euripides� tragedy on another mad king, namely Heracles: "it is a play which imposes suffering upon men as their tragic condition, but it also discovers a courage equal to that necessity, a courage founded on love." When Hawthorne makes his final entry carrying the body of Cordelia, the aching intensity of his howls of grief recall the figure of King Creon at the end of Sophocles� Antigone, bearing in his arms the body of his son Haemon whom he has wronged. In conclusion Nigel Hawthorne gives an intelligently and meticulously conceived and brilliantly executed performance, making him, in my opinion, the definitive Lear and all others mere pretenders to the throne.